Cecelia swung the old doors open, clapping one solid arm down on Jamie’s shoulder like a brick, guiding them straight out of the door, off of the step, and into the cemetery. 

“So,” she glanced quickly at the crumpled paper in her hand, “Jaime?” 

“Jamie.”

“Right.” Damn Magnolia and her nonsensical lettering. Doctors and other science-types always wrote incomprehensibly, and Cecelia wondered if they ever actually knew what their notes said, or if they just made it up as they went along. “Well, here we are. Home sweet home.” 

Cecelia stretched out one arm and gestured to the spectacle in front of them. 

The cemetery was immense. The path in front of them seemed to stretch off into the horizon, impossibly numerous graves lined up like soldiers either side. Small pathways zigzagged away at random angles, off into the maze of stone. 

“Welcome to the boneyard.”

She watched Jamie’s face for any reaction. In response they just tipped their head. “The boneyard?” 

Cecelia chuckled, shoving her hands deep into her overall pockets, “Sure, cemetery, whatever. It’s all very colloquial down here, kid, you don’t gotta worry proper Foundation terminology.” 

Jamie’s face pulled slightly, almost confused. The expression of someone who had just been given a small amount of slack on reins that had been tight for months on end. 

She began to walk up the middle path, retying the arms of her overalls around her waist, revealing an earth-stained tank top underneath. Jamie followed quickly behind. 

“Now, I’m not too sure what they want you doing down here, but I can give you a quick run-down of the place…” she trailed off, lost in thought for a moment. “Say, they didn’t give you any clues about what you’d be doing down here, did they?”

“No, sorry. I was told that I would be doing research of some kind down here. For extra hands-on time. I did apply for a few extra assignments.” 

“I’m betting down here wasn’t one of them.”

“It wasn’t.” There was the slightest hint of a laugh in their voice, vaguely amused at the situation as they wandered through the variety of headstones. The majority of the rows were at nearly parallel angles, with engraved stones varying wildly in design and height. 

Cecelia could see them taking an interest.  “Whole thing, y’see, is divided into sections, and them sections into rows.” She pointed towards the foot of the graves that met the path where small metal stakes bearing letters had been driven into the ground. They currently stood at Row N. “This bit,” she gestured to the rows on the left side of the path, “is the A to Z’s, starting right from t’ back and going right up to reception. And here,” right this time, “You’ve got the Old Section. Place used to be a Jewish burial ground before the Foundation got a hold of it. All named in Hebrew over there.” 

She paused for a moment, worried that her rambling information was just washing over the researcher without having any affect. To her delight, Jamie appeared to be scrawling everything down. Cecelia laughed, “You can tell you’re a junior, always taking notes. Eager to please, you lot.” 

“Sorry, ma’am.” 

“You’re polite too. All newbies try hard to impress, from what I’ve seen. Makes a nice change,” Jamie’s frowned at her, “Haven’t you seen the doctors at the Foundation? Absolute rude bastards, some of them.” 

Jamie made a note of that too, a small smile playing upon their face. 

They continued to follow the path up a small incline, letters passing by their feet. I. H. G. A slightly bent F. E. “Can I ask what you do as groundskeeper?”

Cecelia was only too happy to provide more information. She didn’t really have many people to chat to here, so a fresh pair of ears and an eager attitude was what she needed. “I just kinda look after this whole place, see? Mowing, weeding, clearing the paths, doing any maintenance that Mags can’t be bothered calling maintenance for.” She chortled fondly. 

D. C. B. And finally, A. On the left hand side the graves tapered off in a final row, backing onto a small clump of trees. “Right here’s a nicer bit,” Cecelia pointed out, continuing to lead along the path as it flattened out, “There’s a pond in there. Folk go sit next to it sometimes, chills them out I think.”

She paused for a second as the pencil scratched at its page, and they continued onwards. “Al’s working up in Worsley today.” 

“Worsley?”

“Section Four, officially. But names are easier to remember than numbers, I find.” 

The path branched into a crossroads; the left path cutting away towards the pond, the right veering away into the rest of the infinite graveyard. They took the middle path into Worsley. 

The first thing that was most noticeable about ‘Section W’ was that it wasn’t finished. An acre of uncut grass spread out in front of them as the path tapered off, flagstones being replaced by a muddly dirt path that held the tracks of wheelbarrows and heavy boots. A couple dozen graves were dotted about in the semblance of about three rows, but many empty spaces were left in between. Waiting. 

One plot’s waiting was over. 

In the middle of the third row, there was a hole. In regular rhythm came the sound of the digging of wet earth. A moment later followed by a shovel appearing from the hole and dumping another load of earth-clay mix onto the adjacent pile. 

“Hey, Al!” Cecelia called, as they neared, the quiet crackle of a radio crept out from the grave. 

The rhythm stopped, and they watched as the man in the grave propped his shovel up and lifted himself from his back-breaking position. There hadn’t been a photo for this man, quite likely because of the fact he looked like he’d never smiled a moment in his life. 

 “’Celia,” he nodded, hauling himself out of the pit with a groan, standing to his full height. He was tall, although not as tall as Cecelia, and certainly not as broad. In fact, he was surprisingly lean for someone who’s job was to dig every day. His dark green overalls were stark against his skin, which itself was as dark as the earth he worked in. His gnarled hands fumbled deep in his pockets and he pulled out a dented tin, popping it open to reveal a collection of cigarettes, some half-smoked already. 

His gaze finally turned to focus on Jamie. His eyes were like the steel of his tools, plunging deep into their soul. He pulled a lighter out of his top pocket and lit a cigarette, only blinking when he inhaled the smoke. 

“This them?”

“This is them.”

“Why’ve they sent someone, again?” He offered Cecelia a cigarette.

She waved her hand in a negative, “Fucked if I know, might just be another-” She paused. Al caught her eye. “Research wasn’t it?”

Jamie nodded, glad to be included in the conversation. “Yeah, apparently.” 

Cecelia shrugged, “Sure it’ll get sorted. Al’ll find you something to do for now.”

“Sure.”